


Boil the Ocean

by ClutchHedonist



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, James Fitzjames is a little shit, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sex Crying, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: The delicate curve of James’s ankle may well drive him mad. Francis can feel it resting against his own, the sharp little point of his ankle bone pressing into him. He spares him a withering glance over the table. James practically glows as he chatters heedlessly on with Lady Ann. Across the table from him, Ross lifts an eyebrow.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103
Collections: Fingerbang #4





	Boil the Ocean

The delicate curve of James’s ankle may well drive him mad. Francis can feel it resting against his own, the sharp little point of his ankle bone pressing into him. He spares him a withering glance over the table. James practically glows as he chatters heedlessly on with Lady Ann. Across the table from him, Ross lifts an eyebrow. 

Francis buries a harrumph into a sip of water. Bloody insatiable. Since the long walk, since the voyage back across the Atlantic, since that first night on shore when James, all reedy breath and grasping hands, had pressed his starved mouth to his, there’s been no dissuading him. He is, after all and despite everything that has happened, a young man, vulnerable to such needs as young men are often captives to. And, Francis has no doubt, used to getting his own way, eagerly and often, in the fulfillment of those needs.

But this? The way his knuckles had brushed Francis’s hip as they’d taken their places at the table. The knowing glances from the corner of his eye. And now, the damnable heat of his well-turned calf pressing into his. The man is ruthless. A torturous creature. 

Were one a stranger to Francis’s disposition, to his predilections, perhaps James’s overtures would go unnoticed. Ross, stranger to neither and friend to both, merely quirks one corner of his mouth in that damnably enchanting way of his and offers no help whatsoever.

James has looped his ankle around his, now, the curves of their feet like puzzle pieces, seamed together. He’s going to ruin him. Vanity discarded in the ice, James is at the edge of abandoning  _ decency,  _ and Francis- Francis will have to rise from the table at some point, and do so in the sight of Lady Ann, both cruel Jameses, and God. He takes a fortifying breath; he’ll not let himself do it in a wretched state, but it’ll be a bitter thing. 

There is, at the very least, the succor of what he’ll do to James in return. 

***

“A lovely evening.” James is chortling as he hangs his overcoat on the stand by the door, “How very kind of Sir James and Lady Ann to receive us.” 

Francis glances back over his shoulder, cocks a brow, “Lovely, was it, then?”

James purses his lips to force away a smile, “I found it quite pleasant.”

“Oh, aye, you certainly seemed eager to exchange  _ pleasantries. _ ” Francis huffs.

“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean, Francis.” James drawls.

Francis grips one slender hip, crowds him back against the door until James softly exhales, “Haven’t you?”

James watches him with eyes already grown dark and warm, “I may, perhaps, have an inkling.”

Francis barks a laugh. James leans closer to just barely skim his lips over his, and Francis shudders. Both hands dart out, seizing James’s slender wrists, pinning them up beside his shoulders.

“You’re a provocative little tart, do you know that?” He grunts.

James shivers, swallows back a whine, “Oh?”

Francis noses into the hollow of his long neck, worries at the spot just beneath his ear with his teeth until it pinkens beneath his attentions, “A greedy thing.”

“Nnh-” James sighs, “I can hardly be blamed for it when you make such good use of my appetites.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Francis’s hands are at his waistcoat, thumbing the buttons open to drag free the hem of his shirt and push one hand up beneath it. James’s skin breaks into gooseflesh at the scrape of his nails, “I’d have you right here against the door like a three-penny-upright if either of us had the legs for it.” 

“ _ Francis. _ ” James breathes, cheeks coloring. His back arches up off the door.

“Ah, ah.” Francis scolds, “To bed, first. Surely you can wait.”

“A trial, to be sure.” James sniffs.

Francis smirks, “One earned and well-deserved. Come, now.”

They have, the two of them, walked over eight hundred miles at one another’s side, and the trek up to the bedroom is still a painfully long journey. Francis has to stop twice, once in the hall and once on the stairs, to pull James’s hands off of himself, press him up against the wall to rake his teeth over his earlobe. By the time they reach their chambers, James is whining in earnest.

“Greedy slut.” Francis grinds out into his ear as he claws open his trousers.

James’s body goes taut, and Francis hears the breath leave him, “ _ Oh. _ ” He whimpers.

Francis seizes him by the hips, all fire, now, shoving him back towards the bed, “Oh, you like that, do you?”

James strangles out a handful of needy, wordless syllables in response and drags Francis down over himself. They topple back into the pillows, and Francis is devouring him before James can string together a proper response.

James clings to him, opens his mouth to Francis’s insistent tongue, breathes in gulps and gasps and helpless pants beneath the onslaught. Francis has him by the wrists again, has him fast against the headboard, and James’s mind is already beginning to swim. The air seems to thicken, a blur around him; even the scuff of Francis’s calloused palms on the thin skin over his pulse is quickly overwhelming. He ruts up against him desperately, cock already straining against the front of his half-open trousers. 

Francis, for his part, is perfectly content to keep him on the back foot. He has James’s clothing in a heap on the floor before James can protest. There’s no time to take a breath before his hands are on him again, roving over the long expanse of James’s thighs. The warmth lingers for only a moment, and then James is left blinking in surprise as Francis sits back.

“Stay.” He orders simply. 

James feels his heart thud against his ribs at the steel in his voice. He stills. Francis watches him for a moment, appraising, and then reaches for one of the pillows. A single firm yank dislodges the pillowcase. Heat rises in James’s body as Francis loops it about his wrists and fixes them to the headboard.

“Can’t have you misbehaving, can we?” Francis grunts, “Not after that little performance of yours at supper.”

“You seemed to enjoy it well enough.” James counters with a smirk.

Francis purses his lips. Without a word, he leans over the edge of the bed, returns a moment later with James’s discarded cravat.

“Francis...” James begins, pulse skipping. 

Francis watches him in silence, one ginger brow arched. Slowly, James lets his lips part. 

“There’s a good lad.” Francis murmurs as he fits the fabric between them. James’s cock twitches from where it lays heavy against his belly.

It doesn’t take long for Francis to set him wailing into the gag. He has him speared on two thick fingers in a matter of minutes, James arching and twisting with each resolute press. He comes that way, messily in stripes up his chest to his throat, twice in an hour before Francis gives him time to catch his breath, and then again when Francis, cruel man that he is, licks into him after only a few minutes’s pause.

“What you were asking for, isn’t it?” Francis’s breath is hot against him where James is already oversensitive.

“ _ Hhngh. _ ” James strangles out. His chest is heaving, and his arms have long since given out, leaving him collapsed into the pillows on his knees.

“Thought you’d play a game with me, did you?” Francis muses. He moves one hand to stroke the gentle curve of James’s lower back, and James whimpers softly in response, “Always have had eyes bigger than your belly, haven’t you? Cocky thing.”

James is quivering, his entire body slick with sweat and come, and somehow his cock still has the discourtesy to stir at Francis’s affectionate scorn. He can hear him huff a laugh behind him. His weight shifts on the bed. 

“You never do back down from a challenge, though, do you?” There’s a grin in the lilt of his voice, “But come now, surely, James, you can’t take any more, can you?”

James gives an indignant sniff and squirms to glare over his shoulder. His hair is a maelstrom around his temples; a smile plays across Francis’s lips.

“You’re bereft without it, aren’t you?” He asks, “It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve had your own way. You can’t stand being left  _ unfucked _ .”

Something jerks in James’s chest, and he shudders out a broken moan. Francis is kneeling behind him, now. He imagines his hands on his hips, commanding and demanding at once, and slowly, with quavering arms, pushes himself back onto all fours. He can hear Francis draw in a tight breath.

“Look at you.” He hums.

James turns to meet his gaze, eyes heavy-lidded, and is rewarded with the weight of Francis’s already leaking cock against the curve of his ass as Francis pulls him closer. He mewls around the gag, arcs back helplessly against him. He feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes when Francis finally lines himself up.

He breaches him slow, measured, and James gives a little sob. It’s so much. It’s so  _ much.  _ To feel him there, where he’s already had his fingers, his tongue, to feel the way his cock stretches him out anew, the heat and girth and friction of it sliding into him until Francis is buried in him to the hilt. It’s more than he can stand, and Francis is still right: James would rather be broken into pieces than be without it. 

He gives himself over to it, already quaking, lets Francis’s hands pull and push him on and off his length as he pleases. It’s obscene and overwhelming and perfect, the way Francis takes him apart like this. His toes are already curling in the sheets when Francis shifts the angle of his hips and punches another sob out of him with a twist of his capable hips.

“Will you do it, James?” Francis exhales, “Will you come for me again, like this?”

James manages something between a groan and a hysterical little pant of laughter as he nods. He’s already hard again, desperately hard, impossibly hard, and although he may have precious little left to give, in this moment, Francis could ask him for anything and James would promise it wholeheartedly. He grinds back into him and hears Francis’s breath hitch.

It’s like a tempest, then, the way that Francis has him,  _ takes  _ him. Sharp, hungry thrusts that have James keening around the gag. Hungry for his own satisfaction, yes, but always driving James ahead of him, onward and onward, towards the crest of the wave. He shatters the moment Francis gets a hand on him, drags Francis over the edge with the way his body clenches down around him with each desperate volley. 

His head is spinning as they both sag down into the sheets. Francis reaches up to the headboard to release him, and James can already feel the soreness growing in his shoulders as he lets his arms sink back down.

“This cravat is ruined.” He pants as Francis frees him of it.

Francis laughs, a coarse rumble of a thing, and draws him into one arm so that James rests against his shoulder. With the pad of his thumb, he wipes the dampness from his cheeks, “A great loss, no doubt.”

James grumbles softly, burrows up against his side, and Francis draws the covers up over them.

“Although I suppose you were right after all.” James can hear the playful edge in his voice.

“Nnh?”

“It did end up a lovely evening.”

**Author's Note:**

> for more cold boys and smut, come visit me at clutchhedonist.tumblr.com


End file.
